Consequences Unforseen
by Yuhi Sakura
Summary: Knowing what he did, knowing who he did, Gabriel couldn't let things continue unchecked. So he didn't. He just didn't know that he even he couldn't see what came next. No slash.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue: Whispers in the Dark**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or that Skillet title. **_

Crowley could almost hate himself for not realizing it sooner. He might not have been able to circumvent Castiel, or the Winchesters, but there were ways around them, ways through their defenses…if one was looking closely enough, of course.

He was amused by his thoughts: How interesting that he, a demon, the King of Crossroads and Hell, a born deceiver, would be outdone by a human's lies. And how interesting that those lies would lead him right to where he wanted to be: on the inside of that tight little ring of barriers and nets and traps that were the Winchesters' closely guarded loved ones.

He had seen that complicated little web as a challenge, at first. Something to be toyed with and worked over and broken when he got bored; but it wasn't that easy. He had quickly been frustrated by them, and the way that, despite his best attempts and his most clever schemes, they constantly won out. It had sparked some…interesting issues.

Demons, who had formerly sided with him, began to whisper that perhaps Lucifer had indeed been more competent. Naturally, of course, he put down the demons who he found to be spreading such filth. His mistake, though, had been to do it quietly. At first, he didn't want to bother making examples out of them. That took time and resources he needed elsewhere. What he hadn't foreseen was the creeping chaos that would ensue.

There were whispers in the gloom of the Pit and in the shadows of the world that angels and humans were winning the war… That the disappearing demons and unfinished projects were the result of divine intervention. And that, they reasoned, meant God was back. Fear began to infect the ranks, and soon he had just as many deserters as he did outright traitors or the dead.

He smirked as he fingered a picture of the pretty woman. She wasn't exactly young anymore, but she was pretty, for a human. Dark hair, caramel-tinted complexion, and a decent body. It wasn't his version of a wet dream, but he could understand how a human might fall for her.

She, though, was hardy important in his grand scheme. Her lie had paved the way, certainly, but now she was…disposable, at best. It was her son that was the real crowning jewel.

A descendent of the Sons of Adam. His father's father had been the same, of course, and that was hardly remarkable. What was remarkable, however, was the way the blood hadn't weakened. Genetic heritage tended to get watered down by other bloodlines and even the infusion of demonic and angelic lines. His, though, was almost as strong as Michael's intended vessel.

There was still the issue of opening the Cage, but that could be dealt with on the side. He first needed to subtly inject himself into the situation, get under the boy's skin and gain his trust. It would be easy now that his memories had been wiped. He would have no knowledge of all those lovely little tricks, those tiny little suspicions his father had planted. On the contrary, breaking that wall would _help _him. What better way to confuse and wound than with proof that Dean himself had been the way to take all that happiness away?

He could have his souls, he realized, even without finding the Gate to Purgatory. All he needed to do was nudge a few pawns this way or that way and, before anyone else knew it, he would have a checkmate.

He just needed to start carefully…

* * *

><p>"Things have been quiet lately," Sam commented off-handedly as he popped open a beer.<p>

"Too quiet." Dean replied.

"I agree."

Dean choked, sputtering beer.

"Damn it, Cas!" He shouted, "Don't sneak up on me!"

"My apologies." The angel replied with a contrite bow of his head.

"Um…you were saying…" Sam trailed off uncomfortably.

"Ah, yes," Cas responded, "There's been an interesting turn of events: Raphael's troops have started to pull back."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Sam asked.

"Perhaps, but it seems too…convenient." Castiel responded.

"You don't look like you think it's a good thing." Sam observed.

"I'm cautiously optimistic." The angel replied; it was dangerously close to a lie…

"Settle down, Cas," Dean said, passing him a bottle, "Have a drink."

"Unfortunately, this wasn't a social call." The angel said, "I was hoping that you might be able to help me. One of my garrisons disappeared a few days ago. I'm not sure if they're alive or dead."

"Why don't you zap over there?" Dean asked.

"I've conducted a preliminary search, but unfortunately, I can't get in."

"Sigils?" Sam ventured.

"Hundreds of them. Some of which I've never seen before."

"Great…demons getting creative." Dean sighed, taking a swill of his beer. "Where is this place?"

"It's just outside of South Carolina."

"Guess we're paying Bobby a visit." Dean replied as he tossed the beer bottle aside and opened the door of the Impala. "Are you two coming?"

"It would go much faster if you allowed me to arrange transportation."

"Cas, we've talked about this." The door slammed.

Sam shrugged, "Sorry…want to…ride along?"

"I have a war to fight." Castiel replied reasonably, "I'll meet you there."

* * *

><p>Bobby grumbled to himself as he answered the first phone, quickly confirmed a fake ID, picked up another to demand the release of his "agent," and proceeded to pop open a beer as he snatched a third from the wall and said, "Yes, he's my best officer." He listened to the deputy, obviously a newbie, give a stammering apology and promise to release him immediately.<p>

"What's a man got to do to get some peace around here?" He wondered aloud to himself as he scrubbed at his face with his hand.

As if taunting him, his cell phone suddenly sprung to life. He reached over absently and flipped it open, "Dean."

"Hey, Bobby." The Winchester replied. "We're headed down there."

"Does your girl need some attention?" He asked.

"She'll have to wait," Dean said with an echo of frustration, "Apparently, we have some missing friends down there."

"Friends?"

"The feathery kind."

"Angels." Bobby deadpanned.

"I guess some of Cas' people went missing down there. We're checking it out. I thought I'd call and see if there's been anything strange going down. It might give us some idea of what we're up against."

"Wish I could tell you something. It's been quiet lately."

"We're getting that a lot." Dean replied.

"So are all the other hunters."

"Good to know we're not alone."

"Let me see what I can dig up. We'll chat when you get here."

"Thanks, Bobby."

He flipped the phone down, tucked it back into his jeans pocket, and opened his computer. He sighed as the phones on the back wall started to wail, demanding his attention. For the lack of demonic activity, there sure seemed to be a lot moving under the surface…

He pushed the thought away as he tapped the "Enter" key and picked up the small white phone labeled "Marshall Sandoval." It was another hunter, of course, and he quickly arranged for him to be released.

He was just sitting down to a meager lunch when his personal cell rang again. Exasperated, he picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Don't sound so grouchy, Bobby." The female on the end of the phone replied; she was obviously irritated, "Not when I'm the one cleaning up your messes."

"Jodie?"

"No, it's Santa Claus." She replied sarcastically.

"Can we cut to the chase?"

"I have one of your guys down here." She told him, "They said you'd verify them."

"Who are they?" He asked.

"Which alias would you like?" She snapped back.

"Give me a description." He sighed gruffly.

"Middle aged African American female with a British accent."

"She's one of ours."

"Then come get her." Jodie replied, hanging up.

"My day just ain't gonna get any easier." He grumbled to himself as he threw on his jacket and pulled his keys off the hook.

TBC


	2. Beginning

_**Chapter One: Beginning**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. **_

He stopped, his eyes darting across the playground suddenly; he was…so sure he had seen something…but it was there and gone so fast that he wasn't sure if he had seen anything at all…

He fidgeted for a moment and tried to remember what he thought was there. It was…a person? Or was it just a thought…

"Excuse me, son, I believe you dropped this."

He turned in surprised, dropping his Gameboy into the sand at his feet.

The man smiling down at him almost scared him. He could have sworn that he had been alone when he sat down to pick up his game. And there something about him, about the smirk on his face and the way the light seemed to bend around him that gave him chills.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

Embarrassed, he frowned and said, "You didn't."

The man seemed amused by his show of defiance. He held out his hand, a shiny piece of paper clasped between his fingers.

Despite himself, Ben reached over and took the picture from him. He glanced at it, swallowing hard when his stomach flipped uncomfortably. He swallowed hard and tried to push it back at the man.

"I don't know this person." He said.

"I think you do." The man insisted. "Keep it, and see if you…remember anything."

"And what if I do?" Ben asked.

"Then you come and ask me." He said.

"Mom says I shouldn't talk to strangers." He ventured.

"I'm no stranger." The man said with a smile, "I'm sure Dean will remember me."

"Who's Dean?"

"The man in the picture."

Ben's eyes darted down before he could stop them and fixed on the man's face. There was something oddly familiar about him and it confused him. He felt like he _should_ know who it was…but he just…didn't.

"Maybe," He said, "My mom will remember him."

"You must not show your mother this picture. She'll only get angry with you." He said.

"Why?"

The man patted his head, "Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you."

"Why can't you tell me now?" Ben asked.

Instead of answering, the man bent low to him and asked, "Do you have secrets?"

"Yeah." He replied, unsure of how it mattered.

"Adults have secrets, too. This will be our secret. Now, run along. And come back tomorrow."

Seeing no other way and wanting desperately to leave, Ben nodded, picked up his Gameboy, and walked to the other side of the park. He glanced of his shoulder once, to make sure the man wasn't still there, and then he broke into a run, and he didn't stop until he reached his porch.

He waited there for a moment, catching his breath, before he walked in. The lights were on in the kitchen, and he heard his mother shuffling around the dishes. Pushing the door closed behind him, he tried to creep up the stairs, but she heard him and called out, "Hey, Ben! Are you hungry?"

"Hi, mom." He replied, feeling strangely guilty. "I'm not very hungry."

"Are you feeling okay?" She asked, pressing her wrist against his forehead.

He batted it away, "I'm fine. I just wanna be left alone, okay?"

He darted up the stairs before she could reply. Her call to him was punctuated with the slam of his door.

She wondered vaguely to herself what was wrong with him, but quickly brushed the notion aside. He was a growing boy. Hormones were going to figure into the picture eventually. It was frustrating that it had to be sooner rather than later, but she had always known it was coming.

With a sigh to herself, she walked back into the kitchen and packed away the leftovers. As she stretched a sheet of plastic wrap over a container, she couldn't help but think that something was missing from her kitchen.

It felt suddenly very…lonely. She swore she could almost feel the ghost of a hand on the small of her back and the brush of lips against her neck. But, then again, maybe she had been alone so long that she was only imagining it, _hoping_ that one day that _would_ be her reality.

* * *

><p>"I'm here." Bobby announced himself gruffly as he walked through the door.<p>

He was the picture of exasperation: his shoulders were dropped, his arms hanging limp by his side, annoyance radiating from his eyes, lips tight.

"Aren't you a picture…" Jodie trailed off, giving him the once-over.

"Spare me the flattery." He replied flatly, "I hear you have something for me."

"Last cell on the left."

"Thanks." He said dryly, marching past her and down the hall.

His footsteps echoed heavily right up until his voice replaced it, "Tamara, what in the hell are you doing here?"

"Attempting to get a hold of you." She told him, her rich accent cutting the edge in her words.

"Don't you think a phone call would'a sufficed?" He asked.

"You know I like to conduct business in person." She smirked despite the situation.

He rolled his eyes, "Let's get you outta here, and then we'll chat."

* * *

><p>Bobby all but stormed into his house, tossing aside his jacket in his quiet rage. He turned once to face her, opening his mouth as if to say something, before he shook his head and told her, "Get your ass in here."<p>

She stepped inside, her arms crossed over her chest. She kept her eyes low to the floor; he assumed it was guilt, or sorrow or rage…or any other emotion, really. Hunters were fucked up people in general when it came to emotion.

"Come on, have a seat, and tell me what the hell was so important you got yourself arrested for it?" He asked.

"I was attempting to rendezvous with some contacts. We had intended to raid and exterminate a vampire nest." She told him.

"That doesn't explain Jodie back there." He said, reaching absently beside his sofa.

"She thought I was suspicious."

"Still doesn't explain the arrest," He snapped a rifle up tight against his shoulder, "Or why ya haven't moved from the front door."

"What are you talking about?" She demanded angrily.

"You can't, can ya?" He asked.

Her eyes flared black and her lips pulled up in a smirk, "I should have known you would edit your traps."

"What can I say?" He smiled mirthlessly before cocking the gun, "Now, get talkin'."

"I have nothing to say to a human."

"You sure went to a lot of trouble to say that." Bobby said with a knowing frown. He lowered the rifle against his leg and sighed as he reached over the desk and collected a small book, "I was hoping to avoid an exorcism today."

He walked around her, careful not to break the circle that comprised the devil's trap, and flicked the lock on his door. There was no sense in Sam or Dean accidently getting caught up in it.

"Now, then," He said, "Where were we?"

* * *

><p>"I'm tellin' ya, Sammy," Dean's voice was noticeably muffled by the Egg McMuffin he had hastily stuffed in his mouth, "It's nev'r this quiet."<p>

"Chew with your mouth closed." His brother replied with a smirk as he closed his laptop.

Dean swallowed, smiling to himself as he pulled into the auto yard. "Home-sweet-home."

Opening the door, he stepped out and reached back blindly to retrieve his bag. Trying to helpful, Sam reached over to pass it to him, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash; glass shattered, and he yelled, "Dean! Watch out!" as a black cloud erupted from the front window.

Sam lunged forward, dragging his brother forcibly off his feet and into the car. Dean kicked hard of the ground as the polluted cloud grazed his calf. For a long moment, they sat in the Impala, panting hard, before the older Winchester fought his way back out of the car.

"Bobby!" He yelled, running for the door.

A fraction of a second before he collided against it with the intent of kicking it down, it swung open to reveal the man in question.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam asked breathlessly as he climbed out of the car.

He didn't reply as he stepped back inside. Just past the edge of the door, Sam saw him crouch down and pull an old throw blanket over an eerily human figure.

"Hey…Bobby," Dean ventured as he stepped inside, "Who was that?"

"Tamara." He replied, standing up, "But by the looks of it, not for a while."

The brothers could already see red stains begin to bleed onto the blanket.

"Did you get anything out of the demon?" Dean asked as he closed the door behind them.

"Nothing. Not even the usual bull about makin' life difficult." Bobby replied as he walked into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a shovel in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other.

"Well, come on, boys," He said, "We've got a body to take care of."

TBC


	3. Union

_**Chapter Two: Union**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**_

Bobby poured the cheap scotch into the grave, took a swill, and dropped a lit match into the pit. Fire erupted from the rectangular depression in the earth and heat blasted up around them.

"See you, Tamara." He sighed, lifting the bottle to his lips.

"She was a good hunter." Sam said.

"One hell of a shot." Dean agreed, clapping Bobby's shoulder.

"She did not suffer."

Bobby rounded violently, gripping the shovel like a weapon and eyeing Cas critically.

The angel averted his eyes for a fraction of a second; relations with Bobby had been…frosty, at best, since the man had learned of his initial deal with Crowley. Even after Dean had managed to beat some sense into him-literally-there was some bad blood between them.

"It was over quickly." Castiel added.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bobby asked as he lowered the shovel; it bit into the ground audibly.

Cas didn't reply. Dean shot him a glance, tipping his chin up in a small gesture of solidarity.

"You were uninjured?" Cas inquired, blue eyes on Bobby again.

The old hunter nodded.

"We should get back," Sam said, "Before we attract any attention."

Dean nodded, walking back to the small clearing where they had parked the Impala and the truck. Sam and Bobby were close behind, Castiel keeping a respectful distance in the background. As he was digging through his jacket pocket to find the keys, he heard Bobby's cell ring.

The man grumbled to himself, found his phone, and answered it with a gruff, "Yes?"

Dean saw Bobby's mouth draw down; a fraction of a second later, he threw the phone aside, cursed loudly, and gunned the engine.

"What the hell was that?" He asked Dean slid into the car beside him.

"I have no idea." He replied as he reached back, opened the passenger door, and motioned for Cas to get in.

The angel, to his credit, only looked mildly confused and complied quickly. Dean turned the key and the engine roared to life. He pressed the accelerator, hard, and, with an apology to his baby, swung the car in a wide arc to follow his friend.

By the time they reached the old man's house, his truck was already parked; the door hung open, and the sheriff's car, lights blazing, was right behind it.

Instinctively, Dean reached back and slipped his hand between his jacket and shirt to slip a pistol in his waistband. He glanced over at Sam, saw him pulling the slide, and nodded as the three of them slipped out of the car.

Sam walked in first, the gun pointed to the ground and his finger ghosting the trigger.

"Bobby?" He called.

"He's in the back, boys," Jodie said, turning around the corner so fast that Sam very nearly shot her. "Seems he's missing something valuable."

"Valuable?" Dean asked, "Like, what?"

"Like the ring of Pestilence." Bobby snapped as he walked through the door.

"You're joking, right?" Sam asked.

"Wish I was." The old drunk responded.

"Is anything else missing?" Sam asked, "Any money or guns?"

"Nope. This wasn't your average break in." Bobby replied.

"How can you be sure?" Dean asked.

"There was sulfur around it." He said, holding up his index finger to show them the dusting of yellow on it.

"Damn it." The older Winchester sighed.

"So, now we have a missing angel garrison and a stolen ring…Great…" Sam trailed off.

"Let's take care of one at a time." Dean said. "We're here now; let's scope out this place Cas found."

"I'll see what I can do about getting our 'friend' back here." Bobby said.

"Why don't I say and help out?" Sam offered.

"Go with your brother." Bobby replied automatically.

"You shouldn't be doing this alone." Dean said.

"And who else is gonna do it?" The elder hunter responded.

"Cas?" Dean turned to the angel, eyebrows lifted.

"I'll assist in whatever way I can."

Bobby grumbled to himself, but didn't say anything further.

"It's settled, then!" Dean announced with a smile, pulling Sam towards the front door.

* * *

><p>"This place is a freaking fortress." Sam's voice was laced with exasperation. Through his binoculars, he could see several obvious traps-which almost guaranteed that there were other, more sinister and less conspicuous traps rigged up-the anti-angel sigils, several demons' traps, and a few symbols that he just didn't recognize.<p>

"So, what's our game plan?"

"I say we go back to Bobby's, do some research."

"Oh, but you two aren't going anywhere."

Dean sighed, "Meg…"

"It's so nice to see you boys." Her smile was pure poison.

She leaned in from the backseat, resting her arms on the edges of theirs. With a toss of her head, she flicked her eyes first to Dean, and then to Sam.

"I wish we could say the same about you." Dean replied.

"You're going to hurt my feelings." She smirked, full lips turning up. "Here I was, all ready to _reward_ you for your help the last time."

"How about letting me sink a knife into your chest, then?" He said.

"Now, now, Dean," She leaned forward, whispering low and soft in his ear, "Save some for later."

"What do you want, Meg?" Sam finally asked.

"The usual." She told him.

"And why would we help you?"

"Because we want the same thing." She responded rationally.

"And that is?" Dean replied.

"Crowley dead, of course."

"We can manage that on our own." Dean told her, reaching for the gun in his waistband.

Meg smiled at him, looping her arm around the head rest and over his other shoulder. Silver flashed in her hand.

"I think we know how this is going to end, Dean."

"I'd sooner die than help you. And, because we both know I'll be back, I'd suggest not pissing me off."

"Fiesty." She purred, "But, like it one way or another, you will help me."

He felt the pressure of the blade lessen as she withdrew her hand. She slid to the left, opened the door, and, with a wink and a bounce of brunette curls, was gone.

Turning to his brother, Dean remarked, "You really know how to pick 'em, Sammy."

* * *

><p>Bobby wiped his hands absently and opened a nearby window to vent the overbearing sulfur stench. His eyes darted for a second to the chair where a charred skeleton rested, but he didn't give it more than a cursory thought.<p>

Cas stood uncomfortably off in the corner.

Bobby sighed as he tossed the rag aside. They weren't getting anywhere.

"Perhaps my garrisons might have more information." The angel finally suggested.

"You're welcome to try it." The old drunk responded. As a rule, he didn't trust angels very far…

The door above them swung open and he heard Dean call out. He responded in kind, directing them down into the basement.

Sam peeked around the stairs, "Hey. Any news?"

"We got squat."

"Yeah? Same here." He said.

"We've got that and a new problem." Dean remarked as he came down the stairs, "We just had a run in with Meg."

"And what did _she_ want?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing new. Just Crowley's head." The younger Winchester told him.

"It's never that easy." Bobby reminded him.

"Either way, we've got bigger issues." Dean said, holding up the notebook that Sam had sketched in. "Mind helping us with some book work?"

"Let me see what I can dig up." The old hunter said as he grabbed the dog-eared spiral.

"I must return to my duties. I'll contact you soon." Cas said; there was a flap, a ripple of air, and then he was gone.

"Just another day in the life…" Dean trailed off.

TBC


	4. Remember

_**Chapter Three: Memory**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural!**_

Dean fingered the picture lightly, afraid of smearing anything on it, and even more afraid that someone would see him. He remembered telling Sam that he was done, that as far as Lisa and Ben were concerned, he had never existed and that was the attitude he needed to take as far as his consideration of them. He remembered his brother's face as he burned boxes of pictures, videos, and DVDs. As he burned away their memory…To his brother's credit, he never said a word. Just stood quietly in the background, a pillar of silent support, as Dean ripped apart the tiny corner of happiness he had managed to make for himself.

"Who the hell am I kidding," He breathed out loud, "I found that. It was stupid, dumb luck."

"I could, if you want, undo the sweep."

He glanced over his shoulder, unsurprised. "I'm dangerous to them, Cas. I won't put them in the line of fire. Not again."

The angel nodded with surprisingly human sympathy and understanding, "I am sorry, Dean. If it hadn't been for my…deal…with Crowley, this wouldn't have happened."

"Who are _you_ kidding?" Dean asked, smiling mirthlessly, "It was only a matter of time. I knew it, she knew it."

Cas dropped his head slightly, eyes on the ground.

"Stop beating your feathery ass up." His human charged said, "Come have a beer."

The angel took a step forward and sat down, his hands clasped on his knees. "I never did thank you for stopping me."

"It's what we do for each other." Dean replied, trying to end the conversation quickly.

"Dean," There was an edge to Castiel's voice, an authority to it, and it reminded the green-eyed man that, for all his awkward angelic tendencies, he was still a warrior of God, "I don't think you realize how close I was to making a grave mistake. I should have been honest with you and Sam, and you paid the price because I wasn't."

He reached over and clapped a beige trench coat covered shoulder, "Cas…S'okay."

The angel gave no response until the man passed him an opened bottle. Dean chuckled as he took it and said, "Remember that speech you gave me about 'dens of iniquity'?"

Cas smirked, as best he could, "I believe your logic was more sound than mine on the matter."

"So, any word on your missing troops?"

The eyes of his Vessel suddenly dimmed, "Unfortunately, no. In fact, even more have disappeared. I…fear that I am being deserted."

Dean tipped the bottle up, took a swig, and told him, "We're Team Freewill, remember? Hell, we amount to high school dropout with six bucks to his name, an ex-blood junkie, and old drunk, and a formerly fallen angel. And we still managed to stop the freaking Apocalypse." He lifted the glass bottle in a casual toast.

Cas chuckled in his rusty, mechanical sort of way and replied.

"If we did all that," The hunter continued, "We can win an angelic civil war."

"This," Cas told him, his voice dropping, "Is not something you can help me with."

"I may not be able to bust feathery ass for you, but that's not all I'm good for."

"I just…wonder if I'm doing the right thing."

"Does it feel right?"

He hesitated for a moment, "I'm not an expert on emotions, Dean, but I think that if God didn't want me to do this, he would have stopped me."

The Winchester didn't remind him that for all intensive purposes, God had checked out. It seemed too cruel to shove that in Castiel's face after everything else.

A long moment of comfortable silence passed between them before he finally spoke again, "Sammy said he found some stuff on those weird marks. Says they're some twisted take on Enochian."

Cas tensed, clearly disturbed.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"Enochian is…rigid in structure and meaning. Perverting it would be difficult."

"And?"

"And I fear that Raphael is attempting to develop a new kind of warfare."

"What?" The hunter's brow furrowed.

"The basis of all angelic relations, battle-oriented or otherwise, is Enochian. I suppose you would refer to it as an honor code among us. Distorting that is…dangerous."

"I'm not following you, Cas."

"With a new language, Raphael could develop new chants and spells. Ones that we're unprepared to defend against."

"Then we'll just have to get to him before he gets that far." Dean told him with a ring of finality.

"I should return." Cas said, setting down the untouched bottle.

"We'll call if we find anything." Dean assured him.

* * *

><p>"What an interesting little revelation." Crowley remarked to himself as he turned over a ring with an green stone in his hand several times; he watched the flames reflect off of it once or twice before he pocketed it.<p>

To some degree, he was even impressed by the angel's tampering. It took some very complex tampering to do as much as he had. And even after his death, it had all managed to fall so conveniently…

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, Bobby, that getting into this place won't be easy." Sam said, carding his fingers through his hair.<p>

"It ain't my first time at the rodeo." The mechanic said as he loaded a sawed-off.

"I think we need to get in and take care of the Enochian sigils and get Cas in there as back-up." He didn't add that he wasn't entirely sure they would make it through the lawn.

"What kind of traps are we lookin' at?"

He thought for a moment, shaking his head, "At least a few trip lines, probably some plastic explosives, and a few pressure plates."

"That all seems kinda kosher." Bobby remarked.

"I kinda have to agree." Sam replied with a shrug, "I mean, what would want to keep out angels, demons, _and_ people."

"I guess we'll find out." The older man replied as he cocked the gun and checked his aim.

"So," Dean asked as he walked in through the back door, the screen slamming behind him, "Are we ready?"

"I think so." Sam told him as he rose from his seat and threw a jacket on over his shoulders.

"Let's lock and load, then!"

Bobby rolled his eyes as he checked his ammo supply, muttering something about "idjits" under his breath.

* * *

><p>Dean glanced around once, and, seeing nothing, threw his jacket over the top of the chain link fence and hauled himself over. He dropped to the ground with an irritatingly loud thud and froze for a second. Nothing else moved in the dark and he motioned for Sam to follow. Behind him, Bobby muttered something about being too old for late-night fence hopping. Nevertheless, he managed.<p>

With all three of them safely on the other side, they conducted a hurried conversation in low, breathy whispers. It was decided that Bobby should watch their backs from the outside while the brothers tried to get in.

"Okay, I'll go in the front, you go in through the back." Sam said as he flicked the safety on his gun off.

"Sounds like a plan." Dean replied as he curled low to the ground and started moving through the tangle of weeds.

Sam waited until he was out of sight before he crept over with a tiny pin in hand. Kneeling to the left of the door, he inserted the pointed tip and wiggled it experimentally. He finally found purchase in the mechanism, and it clicked as it opened. The door swung in a few inches and he peered inside.

It was too dark to see if anything was waiting for them. Leveling the gun in front of him, he slipped inside. He scanned the room, tracking over the short muzzle of his pistol. He didn't see anything, and he only heard a vague crackling in the background, but there was an eerie reddish-yellow glow seeping around the corner to his left.

He stepped forward, easing his weight down on the floorboards. When nothing creaked or groaned, he continued down the narrow hallway.

Pressing his back against a wall, he waited for Dean to move into position on the other side of the room. His brother gave the signal, and they both pivoted hard, guns raised, into the room.

He heard Dean inhale and curse under his breath as he lowered his gun: spread in neat rows across the room were several circles of flame. Inside of them were numerous individuals, some male, some female, of no particular age group or ethnicity.

"I think we found the garrison." Sam remarked.

They were all badly wounded and the smell of burning blood was nauseating.

"Well, we better get these poor bastards out of here." Dean said as he slid the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

Sam flung his hand forward, catching his brother's chest, "Wait, Dean. Something isn't right."

"What do you mean?"

"Look," He motioned to the circles, "Those wounds weren't created by an angel sword." The injuries were gruesome, but there wasn't the tell-tale seepage of white light from them. "And, if they were angels, they would have cleaned themselves up already."

Dean hesitated for a second, turning the idea over in his head before he finally said, "There's one way to tell."

He took a step forward, threw his jacket across the edge of the ring, stepped into it, and knelt down beside the body of a petite female with curly black hair. Her shirt was torn from the back of her shoulder to her stomach, and a long, bloody wound followed the arc of the slash. He pressed his fingers against her throat, waited a moment, and shook his head.

It was only as he was getting up that he noticed the odd play of color and light on the floor; spread out around the lifeless body was the ashy imprint of a set of wings…

His gaze drifted up, and he suddenly realized that all of the circles had the same sign of demise around them; prints plastered the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling.

"Shit." He muttered.

"An entire garrison slaughtered…" Sam trailed off.

"Yeah, but by what?" He asked.

"I'd say it was probably Raphael." The younger Winchester ventured.

"Why this unit, though?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "Cas didn't mention anything special about them."

"Exactly." His brother replied.

"Either way, doesn't look like there's anything here now." Sam finally sighed.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Cas," Dean hesitated, "We…have news."<p>

They heard the rush of air through the tight weave of feathers and suddenly Jimmy Novak's voice rang in the air, "Did you find something?"

"Yeah…" Sam swallowed hard, "I'm sorry, Cas, we were too late."

The angel's face remained a stoic mask, but he could see a number of emotions pass through his eyes before he finally spoke, "How many casualties?"

"All told…about a dozen."

His Vessel's jaw suddenly tightened. "You are telling me that an entire garrison was murdered?"

"I'm sorry, Cas." Sam said.

The angel seemed to process that for a moment.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Dean asked.

"This is a war. Casualties are expected." He replied. He didn't wait for a response; the air rippled, the wind echoed, and he was gone again.

TBC


End file.
